


Many miles to go before i sleep

by SinBin



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, F/M, Fix-It, I recognize the russos have made a decision, but fuck your decision
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 01:10:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18728632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinBin/pseuds/SinBin
Summary: Endgame spoilers!!!Tony Stark's been pulling miracle after miracle out of thin air for years. Steve takes a little convincing to pick up the slack.





	Many miles to go before i sleep

**Author's Note:**

> So this is in no way shape or form the Tony from The Wrong Call (All down the line). This Tony is older, a little more Russo canon (sorry) and less bitter. BUT I had to write this because I just saw Endgame and would like to start lodging my formal complaints via fanfic.  
> This one is only going to be two chapters because I want to focus on The Wrong Call and I super want it done by next week :P Thanks for reading!

“I told you what my priorities were.”

Steve turns over in bed, hissing as the move aggravates the gash in his thigh. Not healed yet, not painless yet. He knows that, soon, it will be.

(He hopes he’s not just talking about the wound in his leg.)

(He fears he is.)

Tony prowls the edges of his room, flickering blue like the final moments of the arc reactor in his chest. It’s his sixth night like this, wandering, and Steve—

Steve’s not surprised that this was one loss too many for his sanity.

“Morgan. Pepper. Me.” This Tony doesn’t sound angry. He doesn’t sound like _anything_. Like every emotion’s been scooped out of him and all that’s left is…a robot. “I only had her five years, Rogers. You couldn’t give me any longer than that.”

“It wasn’t my choice,” Steve says, eyes still squeezed shut. He knows it’s a mistake as he says it. Tony stays longer when he talks.

Sure enough, the edge of his bed dips and the blue light shining through his lids brightens. Steve can _hear_ the liquid in Tony’s lungs rattling and he can _smell_ the other man’s burned flesh.

“It’s never your choice,” Tony says. The words are angry, but there’s no emotion to back it up. He says it like an observation, monotone. Steve _hates_ it. “Except, of course, until you _want_ it to be.”

Steve gives up. He’s made the mistake already—there’s no more harm to be done tonight.

( _Of course there is_.)

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what that’s supposed to mean,” Steve says. He rubs his eyes, stealing himself against what he already knows awaits him.

Tony looks _terrible_. Not as thin as he was when Steve helped him off that ship five years ago, but not as well-muscled as he was during the Accords. His skin is that awful, flat pallor from the battlefield, ash and burnt flesh crawling up the side of his face. His beautiful brown eyes are empty and bottomless. Steve thinks he could be swallowed whole by the look in Tony’s eyes.

Tony just looks at him. Steve didn’t expect any different. The past five nights have been the same—Tony wanders around, nudges things, talks in his terrible empty voice and, when he finally gets a response, settles down on the edge of Steve’s bed to _stare_.

Steve’s been wishing for Tony to look at him for years. He’s spent the last _forever_ wishing for their easy camaraderie, the feeling of having someone by his side like they used to be _(“Who better to show you the future than a Stark?”)._ He lost that a long time ago ( _In ice and steel walls and “Did you know?”)_ but he’s always—always hoped.

He’s spent years wanting Tony to just _look_ at him and, in five short nights, Tony’s showed him what a mistake it was to _wish_.

“I’m tired, Tony,” Steve says. He looks at Tony’s lifeless face and feels the weight of how very tired he is fall on his shoulders. “I’ve been tired for a long time.”

Spectral Tony’s already gotten his goal. He doesn’t say anything, just continues to stare into Steve’s eyes silently.

Steve swallows. It’s been—he buried Natasha today. He stood in front of her grave and watched Barton turn her point shoes over and over and over in his hands.

_(He’d said, “I should have gone. I should have—”_

_Barton had cut him with one look. “We both lost partners, Cap. We both should have done a lot more than we did.”)_

“I didn’t want this,” Steve says. His eyes are burning and he’s not proud enough to stop the first wave of tears. They burn down his cheeks, cutting across his chin and falling like ice onto his thin shirt. “I didn’t want anyone’s life on the line but—” _mine_.

He’d stood there in front of Thanos and his army and known it was hopeless. A bone deep, _terrible_ hopelessness, but there’d been relief too because he _knew this_. He knew how to do this.

Captain America always gets back up.

( _It hadn’t been enough. Captain America hasn’t been enough in a long time.)_

Tony stares at him like he _knows_. Tony always knows—knew. He always knew.

Steve bites his cheek and wills the grief back down. His voice is raspy with tears when he whispers, “I wanted to save you.”

It breaks him. _I wanted to save you._ He wants it so deep it _hurts_ , like a new wound and an old one right on top of each other. He’s been wanting to say it for years, since Sokovia, since Germany, since Serbia, since a week ago when Steve wasn’t there _again_.

He’s never _there_.

Steve covers his eyes with one hand as it overwhelms him at last. He hadn’t been there when Tony faced Thanos the first time, alone on an alien planet, so far away because Tony was _there_ saving the day before Steve even knew the day needed saving. Steve’d _promised_ himself he’d be there for the other man ( _a little black phone that never rang)_ and he’d—he’d failed.

_(why is he always letting his friends fall?)_

Tony’d been there, on the battlefield, alone _again_. He’d been against the enemy alone _again_ and he’d—

Steve wasn’t there.

Steve doesn’t recognize the sound that erupts from his chest. It’s nearly too feral to be called a sob, violent and ripping as it ravages his throat. The tears are falling faster now and his hand can’t stop them all. Tony’s seeing them all and Steve doesn’t _care_.

Tony’s not really _here_.

“I’m sorry.” Steve’s words are barely coherent, his voice is so raw. “I’m so sorry, Tony.”

“No, you’re not.”

It doesn’t process for a second. Steve’s so lost in his grief and his _failure_ that he—he nearly doesn’t register that someone else has spoken.

_No, you’re not_.

His entire body jerks and he looks up into Tony Stark’s face with wide eyes. This is—this isn’t how this goes. Spectral Tony doesn’t talk after Steve does, not after the staring’s begun. He doesn’t—he doesn’t look at Steve with eyes that _burn._

“You’re _not_ sorry,” Tony Stark says and the stress on the _not_ is faint but _there_.

“I am,” Steve croaks through numb lips. He can’t stop looking at Tony’s eyes. There’s—they’re not empty.

Oh _fuck,_ they’re not empty.

“Then where’s my body?” Tony asks.

“Wha—” Steve starts to say, but the blue light disappears all at once, plunging the room into darkness. He flings himself at the bedside, fingers scrabbling for the switch, and it takes too long before the room floods with light.

It’s too late. Tony’s gone.

_Where’s my body?_

Steve stays up shaking for a long, _long_ time.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn’t really Tony. He _knows_ that, okay? He knows that grief can play cruel tricks on the mind. He used to think he saw Bucky everywhere after he fell and—he knows it’s all in his head.

(Bucky thinks so too. Bucky doesn’t stick around so much, these days. He’s got enough on his plate without having his best friend’s issues on it too.)

But—he can’t get it out of his head. _Where’s my body_?

Steve doesn’t know.

He’d been at the funeral but there hadn’t been a grave. No coffin, no urn, no boat lit on the lake. There’d been the wreath and the first-generation arc reactor and—nothing. No tombstone. Nothing.

Steve’s heart pounds in his chest. He doesn’t know. _He doesn’t know_.

\----------------------------------------

Rhodes doesn’t want to talk about Tony. He doesn’t want to talk about much of anything with Steve unless it has to do with the Avengers or Pepper.

It makes asking about Tony’s plans for after his death a little…difficult.

“If you want to know what was in Tony’s will,” Rhodes says, focused on the forms he’s filling out, “then ask Pepper. She’s in charge of the estate, I’m sure she can find whatever you’re looking for.”

Steve clears his throat. He feels like he did in front of Colonel Phillips all those years ago, asking for something he knows he shouldn’t be, but _must_. “I don’t think you want me bringing this to Pepper.”

Rhodes’ breath hisses out through his teeth and he throws his pen down. “Look, man, I’m trying to figure out where the Avengers’ funding to fix the compound is coming from _and_ filling out requisition forms so we don’t run out of food in two weeks _simultaneously_ , so either spit it out or go away.”

Steve’s spine snaps straight and he resists the urge to salute. “I need to know what happened to Tony’s body.” Rhodes stares at him. Steve’s crossed a line, he knows he has, but he has to _know._ “Please.”

The big muscle in Rhodes’ jaw jumps. “I carried him off the battlefield with his grieving widow. We needed his setup to get the suit off of him—without the arc reactor it wouldn’t budge.”

Steve feels like an asshole. He should have helped with that, he—he remembers this now. He remembers seeing Rhodes lift Tony into his arms and carry him so gently away. He remembers Pepper following him, muffling her sobs with one hand. He remembers but—

He has to ask.

“Then what?”

“We got him out,” Rhodes says. Remembered horror passes behind his eyes. “He was banged up. We got that fucking gauntlet off of him and then—” he takes a shaky breath “—then he went like all of Thanos’ victims. The stones burned him up. There wasn’t anything left.” Rhodey’s eyes blaze as they jerk back to Steve’s. “Is that what you wanted to know, Rogers—Rogers?”

Steve’s swaying on the spot. _Burned up. Nothing left._

_Where’s my body?_

“I have to go,” Steve croaks and takes off running.

\------------------------------------------

What he’s thinking is _impossible_. He knows it is. He saw Tony Stark die himself, right there, out of reach.

_(he wasn’t there in time)_

He knows that nobody could have held the power of the infinity stones and survived  _(but if anyone could--)._ He saw the light go out of the arc reactor. He saw the blood. He saw Tony's  _eyes_ , but--

But half the world turned to ash, nothing left, and they came back. Bucky didn't have a body and he came  _back_.

Steve owes Tony enough to just see. That's all he's doing. He's just...making sure.

_(His heart is beating so fucking_ fast _.)_

_\------------------------_

Dr. Banner blinks when Steve crashes into the lab, his good hand freezing over an interactive screen. "Captain, I told you I'd call when I have the portal ready--"

"Tony's body disappeared," Steve bursts out. He's barely aware of Hope in the opposite corner of the lab as he nearly crashes into Bruce's workstation. "Rhodes says it turned to ash the second they got the gauntlet off of him."

"Steve," Bruce says. He takes his glasses off and rubs the bridge of his nose. "I know what you're trying to say but-- but Tony's gone." It's strange to see so much sorrow on the Hulk's face with all of Bruce's intelligence in his eyes. "He's not coming back."

"Maybe if he'd just died," Steve says and ignores the way his voice breaks on the last word. He clears his throat. "Bruce, the last people who disappeared like he did we--we brought them back."

"Because they weren't really gone," Bruce says gently. "Thanos basically wished them away and we wished them back. They weren't dead. Tony was. The stones burned him up." Unconsciously, he rubs his withered arm. "There wasn't anything we could do. No human could hold that power and survive it."

"But," Steve says and can't find anymore words. He knows that. He knows that the gauntlet destroyed Tony--he saw the burned flesh--but... "Something's not right. His body shouldn't have just  _vanished_."

"Steve," Bruce says miserably, but another voice cuts him off before he can say anything else.

"Dr. Banner," Hope says, "I'm sorry to interrupt." She comes around her desk, intent on Steve. "You say he vanished. Did he  _vanish_ or were there ashes?"

"I didn't see," Steve admits. 

"Think." Hope strides over to Bruce's desk and spins his screen away from him. Ignoring his protests, she starts typing. "Did he leave ashes?"

Steve thinks. Rhodes had said _nothing_ _left._ Plus..."They would have buried ashes," he says. His heart jumps. "But they didn't bury anything."

"Conservation of mass, Dr. Banner," Hope says. In front of her, a dozen images flash across the screen. The Chitauri ships crumbling, Thanos dissolving, the battlefield strewn with the body of their allies and enemies alike. "Look. Stark used the gauntlet to destroy the enemy like the enemy tried to destroy us--he wished them away. But the dead, the ones that were no longer a threat? Their bodies are still there."

Steve is confused. "Conservation of mass?"

"Matter can't be created nor destroyed," Bruce says slowly. He squints at the screen and uses his hands to turn the images this way and that. "The gauntlet defied that law, Hope. It didn't leave anything behind."

"Yes, it did," Hope says and jabs a finger at a closeup of one of Thanos' children. "It left  _inert objects behind_."

Bruce stares at the picture for a long time. "Oh my god," he says. He spins back to his station, nearly trampling Steve in the process. "That's not--it might not have--" He starts typing frantically.

"What is it?" Steve asks. He tentatively looks around Bruce, trying to see what he's doing. "Does that mean--do you know where his body is?"

"No," Bruce says. He reaches for the portal machine and, without warning, rips off the front panel. "No, I don't know where Tony Stark's body is."

Steve watches Bruce and Hope tearing through data and machines. "I-I'm missing something here. Do you know how to find his body?"

"No," Hope says. She turns and her eyes are feverishly bright. "No, but we  _should_. From everything we've seen, the stones don't do anything to the dead--it leaves them where they are. It's the people who are, for lack of a better word,  _wished_ away that disappear."

"Nobody wished Tony out of existence," Steve says and then catches himself. "Nobody with the gauntlet wished him away."

"Right," Bruce grunts. When he turns from the machine, he's carrying half of its innards. He pulls a screwdriver out of his desk and sets to work. "Nobody used the gauntlet on him. He was  _dead_. Or so we thought."

Steve feels like he's been stuck with a live wire. " _What?"_

"If Stark died, his body wouldn't have disappeared," Hope says. Her eyes are flying across code and, what looks like, hieroglyphs. "But he _did_ disappear. Therefore he wasn't dead."

"I saw him," Steve says. He shakes his head. "He--his arc reactor went out. I saw it."

"Tony had the arc reactor removed years ago," Bruce says. He looks up from the wires and gears to  _grin_ at Steve. "It was just for the suit. Tony  _did_ have millions of nanobots in his blood, ready to form the suit. Nanobots that were programmed to protect him and make him a little harder to kill than most."

Steve stares at the scientists. "He's--he's alive?"

"So far the data supports it," Hope confirms. She hisses between her teeth. "The readings on the stones--this irregularity, it didn't bother me before because it was around the time Thanos disappeared, but now..."

"But now it looks more like a miniature snap rather than the energy rippling out after Tony used the gauntlet," Bruce fills in. He goes over to Hope's screen to point at a series of blips in the readings she's pouring over. "And look--it doesn't taper like during Thanos' use. It drops off completely. Almost as if it stopped completely or--or if it went somewhere else. The Ancient One said the stones had the potential to create alternate timelines. What if--what if that's where it took everyone? What if it wasn't as simple as they  _poof!_ didn't exist anymore? What if it created another reality to hold them in-in stasis?"

"But why would it take Stark?" Hope asks. She shakes her head at the screens. "It--I can see indications of it, but nobody used them to make Stark disappear. He was  _holding_ the gauntlet and unless he wished himself away--"

"He didn't," Steve says. He thinks of Morgan and Pepper and has to swallow hard. "He wanted to--his priority was to stay."

Nobody says anything after that. Steve can hear the beeping of the computers and the whirring of Tony's bots in the corner of the lab. He wants to believe so  _badly_ that Tony's alive. He can't let himself hope--he can't--but he can bring Tony's body home. Whatever it takes.

"So is our current theory that the stones just take people?" Hope asks finally. She looks between Bruce and Steve. "We need to understand how they work to try and--and undo whatever it is they did. If they disintegrated him, that's one thing, but we're postulating that it created a completely different reality to hold him...why?"

"Because using the stones comes with a cost."

Steve's hands are up before he registers that it's Barton, sitting up in the rafters, in the dark. He drops down now, landing on silent feet and padding up to the trio, eyes sharp.

"Clint," Bruce says, "I'd appreciate it if you rang before you dropped in."

Clint makes a face. "Ha, ha, sure. I thought you'd be more interested in knowing  _why_ the stones might have taken Stark than a courtesy knock."

"You said  _cost_ ," Hope says. 

“Yeah,” Clint says. “When Nat and I were getting the soul stone, there was a guide. Real shit guide, actually. No face, can you believe.”

“I’m giant and green,” Bruce says. “I do believe. What does that have to do with the stones?”

“He told us the only way to get the soul stone was to give up what we loved most.” Any earlier animation is gone from Clint’s face. His jaw clenches. “A soul for a soul.”

Steve is the first to get it. “Clint…” New grief, new horror, just when he’s thought he’d felt more than he could. “I’m sorry.”

_(“We both should have done a lot more than we did.”)_

Clint nods in two quick jerks. “She won the short straw on that one.” He turns to the scientists. “You think the stones took Stark. If they did, it was for using them. They don’t come free.”

_Nothing ever comes free_ , Steve thinks.

“Good,” Hope says briskly.

“Good?” Clint asks in disbelief.

“Good,” Hope repeats. She goes back to typing, ignoring how Steve and Clint are looking at her incredulously. “If we can pinpoint when Clint and Natasha got the soul stone, we’ll have two instances of the stones extracting a ‘cost.’ If we’re right, we’ll be able to triangulate whatever dimension they took its sacrifices to.”

“Sacrifices.” Clint hisses the _s_. His eyes jump from Hope to Banner to Hope again. “You think—you think Nat could still be—I saw her on the ground, she can’t be—”

“I saw Tony dead,” Steve says. He grips Clint’s shoulder. “He’s alive. She might be too.”

Clint trembles. Then he nods again, quick and jerky. “Right then, then give me the glove, I’ll snap them back—”

Bruce looks up, alarmed. “Whoa, who said anything about using the glove on this one? The goal is to get everyone back, not lose you too.”

“I owe it to her,” Clint says. “I should have—it should have been me.”

“If we’re right, it doesn’t have to be either,” Hope retorts. “ _That_ was when we were in the field and had no alternatives. _This_ time we’ve got science and time on our sides.”

“It’s already been too long,” Clint says. “They’ve been in there for days with who knows what injuries. If we have any chance of getting them out—”

“I was trapped by the stones for five _years_ ,” Hope says. “We’ve got time.”

Steve hopes she’s right.

\------------------------------------------------

It’s not _bad_ , where Tony is. It’s not _great_ either, but he can deal.

He doesn’t need to eat, which makes him think that he’s dead, but he _can’t_ think that because that would be really, really bad, so he’s _not_ thinking about it. He’s also not thinking about the red staining the side of his face or the frankly worrying amount of burns on one of his arms or how none of it _hurts_.

Nothing feels like _anything_ here and that’s just interesting. Not worrying at all. Worried, him? No.

He’s been here for thirty seconds. Or is it thirty years? He has to have a concussion because it feels like both simultaneously. And forever.

“Thirty,” he says out loud. The water under his feet doesn’t ripple as he starts walking towards the…horizon? Edge? He’s been staring at it for _(minutes_ ) years and hasn’t figured it out yet which means it’s time to investigate. “Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight. Twenty-seven…”

His voice doesn’t echo. There’s plenty of space all around so of course it doesn’t but he _feels_ like it should. Upsettingly enough, a lot of things that _should_ be about this place _aren’t._ For example, the water still isn’t rippling. The horizon (?) isn’t getting closer.

And he just hit _one_ and he still doesn’t know if it’s been thirty seconds or not.

The first time he sees Steve, he’s pretty sure that his mind’s finally cracked and he’s hallucinating.

“Fitting,” he says. He feels like he should be joking, but he’s not getting the facial expression right, he can tell. “Is this hell? Didn’t think you’d be _hell_ but I’m learning a lot about myself now. Did you know I can only count into the millions? Completely lose track after the 63 millions.”

Steve’s eyes scrunch close and he rubs at them like Tony’s giving him a headache. “I need more sleep.”

“You and me both,” Tony says. He walks all around Steve, trying to see if his mind’s fabricated the infamous American ass. “Though I guess I don’t need it anymore.”

Steve opens his mouth to say something—maybe to tell Tony to go away—but, instead, freezes. It’s like he’s just stopped working, no sign of breath or intelligence behind his suddenly inanimate blue eyes.

Tony would frown if his face remembered how to make expressions. “Um, hello? Anyone home?” He waves a hand in front of Steve’s face. When there’s no reaction, he takes a slow step back. “Ooookay. Guess my brain glitched there.”

Tony turns away and keeps walking. He doesn’t have the desire to stand staring at his own hallucinations all day.

\---------------------------

But the thing is Steve keeps coming back. Tony doesn’t know if he’s just turned away when he sees the next Steve or if he’s been walking for weeks but, either way, _he’s not thrilled_. He knows he made nice with the good Captain before the battle but the truth is that there’s a few hurt spots left.

And, maybe, a few new ones he’s a little _bitter_ about.

“I said,” Tony says, “I suit of armor around the world. _I said it_ and that’s why you wouldn’t listen.”

Steve doesn’t answer. That’s about how every other conversation with Steve’s gone, so Tony doesn’t blame his brain for not providing him with a more animate version. This is just rehashing old fights.

“I moved on,” Tony says. “That’s what I do. I move on when the world tells me to, but you—” Tony wishes he could remember how to put some sort of emotion in his voice, but he can’t. He’s too tired. “You should have listened to me during the Accords.”

_That_ at least gets a reaction. Tony figured it would. Tony’s brain remembers Steve’s anger well enough.

“I should have done a lot of things,” Steve bites out. He uncurls from the ball he’s rolled himself in to look up at Tony. “But I didn’t know.”

Tony stares at him. It occurs to him how _young_ Steve looks. He looks tired and young and just like Tony did when he came back from Afghanistan.

“Shit,” Tony says. “I—I think of you as this big hero, you know? I grew up with you on my wall. But you’re—god, you must be in your thirties? I was dumb as shit in my thirties. And twenties. And now. You—you’re frozen.”

Steve is frozen. He’s looking up at Tony with anguish writ across his face and Tony curses.

“I was just coming up on a real breakthrough,” Tony tells the part of his brain hallucinating Steve. “All about how I’ve been treating Steve like the infallible hero my dad built him up to be. It was a real winner.”

And Tony keeps walking.

\-----------------------------------------

Tony gets used to the hallucinations after that. Or was it one hallucination? A dozen? Two?

Whatever, he talks to his brain pretending to be Steve and, after that first time, Steve doesn’t respond as much. That’s fine though because Tony’s got a lot to say.

“I asked you to sign, you didn’t. Why would I call? You’d already told me you wouldn’t come.”

“I’ve always been my father to you. Very unoriginal.”

“I asked for one thing, Rogers, and that was to come home to my family. _One_ thing after _years_ and you didn’t—”

But then Rogers will respond and freeze and Tony realizes that he’s—he’s not as angry as the words sound (his tone is always so flat, he’s had these conversations before.)

Steve freezes and Tony says:

“You didn’t understand the way politics had changed since the forties. I should have had someone walk you through how much.”

“You were always my father’s best creation to me. It wasn’t fair of me to expect you to look beyond his influence on me when I didn’t do it for you.”

“Between you and me, I knew the risks, coming to save the day. We always know the risks.”

And then he keeps walking.

\----------------------------

The sixth time he sees Steve, there’s something bothering him. It’s just—Steve’s wearing a blue, thin shirt, and red basketball shorts. He’s curled into himself, eyes squeezed tight so hard there are white lines going down his cheeks and he’s hunched over as if he’s _afraid_ of Tony.

Tony didn’t know his mind was _sadistic_. But it’s still his mind so instead of commenting on it he says, “I told you what my priorities were.”

Steve actually turns over, on the ground, hissing as if in pain. He’s usually wearing something longer, but Tony can see now that there are gashes running all down his legs—almost as if he’s fresh from the battle still.

Tony’s been out here for _years_ (minutes) and doesn’t have the mind to focus on that right now.

“Morgan. Pepper. Me,” Tony says. He’s had this conversation with a frozen Steve. He already knows how he’ll forgive Steve this time. Tony knew the risks. “I only had her five minutes, Rogers. You couldn’t give me any longer than that.”

Right on cue, Steve whispers, “It wasn’t my choice.”

Before he figured out how to forgive Steve, Tony would have been furious at his answer. So, no anger in his voice, Tony says what the old him had wanted to. “It’s never your choice. Except, of course, until you _want_ it to be.”

He used to hate how Steve seemed to only ever try for the things that were important to him. Hydra and Bucky. Never Tony and the Mandarin and the Accords.

But how could Steve have known? He’d been in the ice so long and Tony…Tony’d just assumed that Captain America would _know_.

For all Tony’s pleas, they’d never really _talked_ and he can’t find it in himself to be angry about it anymore.

Tony waits for Steve to freeze. Then he can tell him how neither of them communicated, how neither of them saw each other. Then he can tell him that they’ve finally reached common ground over Thanos and he _understands._

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what that’s supposed to mean,” Steve says. He sounds beaten down and Tony wants to frown at that. He’s never heard Steve so _defeated before_.

Tony stares at Steve instead, watching him for the glitch.

It doesn’t come.

“I’m tired, Tony” Steve says finally. He _looks_ at Tony and says, “I’ve been tired for a long time.”

_Tony_ is the one who freezes now. He can’t figure out what’s happening. Steve’s never said that to him in his mind _or_ out loud. He’s never admitted that he’s tired in that terribly hopeless tone of voice. He’s never worn a blue shirt with red basketball shorts.

_He’s never worn a blue shirt with red—_

“I didn’t want this,” Steve says. Tony’s rooted to the spot or else he would have _run screaming_  as Steve’s eyes flooded with tears. There’s a _hitch_ in his voice as he continues, “I didn’t want anyone’s life on the line but—”

_Mine_.

They’re words that _Tony’s_ thought before, but he’s never heard Steve say them. Is Tony’s mind blurring Tony and Steve together? Is that fucked up or what?

 He’s stuck, trying to just figure out what he’s seeing because what he’s seeing _can’t_ be a product of his broken mind because, even in his wildest imaginings, Tony’s never imagined Steve having a _goddamn mental breakdown in fucking basketball shorts._

“I wanted to save you,” Steve whispers, the words so _hoarse_ and barely coming out human under the wave of tears that begin to straight up pour out of him.

Steve wanted to save _him_? Tony—there’s only one conclusion here. Only one because there’s no way Tony’s hallucinations would ever—would ever---

“I’m sorry,” Steve Rogers sobs. He covers his eyes and nearly chokes on the force of his grief. “I’m so sorry, Tony.”

Tony’s hallucinations would never _apologize._

“No, you’re not.” It’s a kneejerk response. Tony didn’t mean to say it, but the other response is to run screaming or, possibly, start sympathy crying which he doesn’t _do_. Steve jerks his _crying red_ eyes up to Tony and Tony blurts out, “You’re _not_ sorry.”

Captain America isn’t allowed to be sorry, not after Tony’s already _forgiven_ him. Tony thinks about telling him that, but the details he didn’t think about before are settling in.

Steve’s wearing clothes he’s never seen before.

Steve’s acting like Tony’s never seen before.

Steve’s _saying things_ like Tony’s never heard before.

_It’s not a hallucination._

“I am,” Steve is saying, but Tony’s mind is whirring away.

If he’s not hallucinating, then that means that’s really Steve in front of him. Not the _actual_ Steve, but some sort of vision. And Steve’s been—oh fuck, Steve’s been acting like Tony’s a ghost this whole time because _he basically is_. Steve’s seeing what Tony’s seeing—someone not really there.

But if Tony’s a ghost then—

“Then where’s my body?” Tony asks out loud.

Steve’s eyes fly wide. “Wha—” He freezes.

Tony stares at Steve’s frozen form. “Okay, so that’s obviously some sort of psychic imprint, _not_ a hallucination. I’m—am I a spirit? A soul? There was the soul stone, could it have eaten me? Does it eat? Can it eat?”

He turns and starts walking. He suddenly has too much energy to stay still. “No, I used the gauntlet, it was killing me, but I didn’t—I passed out. But then what? Did I go over the rainbow bridge or did I—”

There are figures in the distance. Two of them, walking towards him. Tony stops.

_Did I not actually die_?

If he didn’t die, then it followed that he’s actually in his real body. And if he’s in his real body—

_Oh fuck--_

“Congratulations,” Natasha Romanov says, stopping right in front of him. “You finally realized you’re in the infinity stones.”

“I’ve been here for thirty seconds,” Tony says even though he knows he’s been here for _much_ longer ( _shorter_ ). “Give me some time to breathe.”

The green lady from the battle is next to her, arms folded, and distinctly unimpressed.

He points at her. "Gamora, right? I taught your sister how to play tabletop football. You  _really_ might want to evaluate what your constant need to win does to the people around you."

"I hate him," Gamora says to Natasha.

"Yeah," Natasha sighs. "Yeah, I figured you would."

"You missed me," Tony says. He's still reeling from the realization that he's not dead. Natasha's not dead. That alien lady isn't dead. "Admit it."

"Yeah," Natasha says. Her lips twitch. "I did."

"Aw," Tony says, genuinely touched.

The two women look at each other. Then back to him.

“Oh,” Natasha says in her faux-surprised voice, “you can’t see us escaping right now? Right out the window?”

“What window?” Gamora asks and actually turns around as if looking for one.

“Hardy har har,” Tony tells Natasha. “You taught the alien sarcasm. Cute.”

“Oh,” Gamora says. “Sarcasm.”

Tony eyes her, but talks to Natasha. “You’ve been here…some time before me, right? No way out?”

“Nope,” Natasha says, popping the _p_ sound. “We’re keeping our eyes open.”

“Both of them,” Gamora says and seems pleased to have contributed.

“I’ve just been walking to kill the time or lack thereof,” Tony says. He sighs. He can’t really bring himself to panic—the fact that he’s _alive_ is better than he was working with before. “You guys got any boardgames?”

“We’ve been telling ghost stories,” Natasha says. She turns on her heel and motions Gamora to walk next to her. “And braiding each other’s hair.”

Tony’s brow furrows. “You better not be joking. Natasha. Natasha! You’re not joking, right? I want a fishtail, Natasha. I swear to god—”

He takes off after them.

 

 

 


End file.
